


Vörðr

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Series: Nadadel [8]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Gen, Grief, Hugs, Souls, Wandering Off, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Óin takes his nadadith to work. Glóin has questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vörðr

 The House of Healing is a low building of white stone, a three minute walk to the Temple. The door is of a dark polished wood and as Óin opens it for him, Glóin is taken back to his mother's illness. It still smells of herbs and soap inside and he hears a tiny coughing- a Dwarfling has caught a cold. Óin keeps an arm around him and gently steers him to a little room.

 

It is big enough to hold a tall cupboard. By the windowsill are little porcelain pots of dried petals. There is a wooden bench holding knives and chopping boards and a pile of plants. Near the back of the room is an alcove holding a bench with a brightly coloured cushion pad and a pillow. The floor is patterned with square beige tiles and opposite the window is a tiny fireplace, lit, with a steaming pot bubbling over it. 

 

"It's like.. It's like home."

 

"Mother thought it was cold and bare when she visited me. She made me the cushion pad to make it cosier."

 

"Are you _allowed_ to sleep in here?"

 

"Well, I often curl up with a book to study once I'm finished with the plants."

 

"You can study at home."

 

"With you constantly whining for my attention?" Óin teases. 

 

"I don't whine!"

 

Óin grins at him. "Hmm." 

 

Glóin rolls his eyes. "Daft brother!"

 

"Charming. I ought to lock you in the cupboard!"

 

"I wouldn't fit."

 

"We can try!" Óin jokingly threatens. He unlocks the cupboard and shows him the contents. Books, pots, bowls, knives, bottles of different sizes in rainbow hues, a box of amulets and a tray of gems used for healing.

 

Óin hunts through his satchel. "Here," he says, passing him a book. It has a shiny black cover and a barely noticeable title. "Picked it up at the market. Reckon you might like it."

* * *

 

 

"Nadad, what's a Vörðr?"

 

"A spirit which follows you from birth until death. Your Vörðr will care for your soul until you pass on."

 

"What happened to Da's Vörðr?"

 

Óin remains silent. How is _he_ to know? "I'm not an expert on matters of the soul." He informs his nadadith. "I've told you this before. Ask our juzral if you want to know. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

 

"Alright."

 

Óin busies himself with putting the pills in the correct jars - red for heart diseases, green for pains, blue for eyes, clear for skin, purple for energy. This is time-consuming work and he soon grows used to the quiet. The door opens and closes and he thinks nothing of it, thinking that it is Madam Lazula coming to check on him. She doesn't say anything, which is odd and he looks at his brother. And blinks. 

 

For his nadadith has disappeared. 

* * *

 

 

"Juzral?"

 

Their juzral hastily places his heavy, black hat back on top of his silver hair. Glóin can't say he blames him for removing the hat when he has the chance. Embroidered with gold thread, tiny pearls surrounding a small, circular diamond, it is made of luxurious items, yet it is heavy and the juzral isn't one for wearing gems and finery when there are so many who struggle. He wears black robes with gold thread sewn onto the wide sleeves. He has warm, golden eyes, a ready smile, and his silvery beard is impeccably braided with beads of steel and a lonely-looking golden bead.   
Despite his lordly, even kingly, appearance, their juzral is as down to earth as it is possible to be. He is also the most kindly person to exist. Mahal must be proud of this messenger.

 

"Are you alright, sweetling? Where is your brother?"

 

"He told me to come here." Technically speaking, this is true.

 

"What for?"

 

"Well, he gave me a book.."

 

The juzral looks thrilled. 

 

"..and it mentioned something called a Vörðr."

 

The juzral looks less thrilled.

 

"My nadad said that a Vörðr looks after your soul."

 

The juzral's eyes soften. "Aye, that's _nearly_ true. A Vörðr will look after your soul. The spirit will protect your soul to the best of its considerable abilities. However, while a soul is not easily damaged, it can get hurt . Sometimes these hurts grow into deadly wounds. Your father's Vörðr, same as all its kin would do for the souls they protect, tried its best to heal the soul, but... It doesn't always work. The damage can be too great. The soul breaks and only death of the body it lies in can heal it. "

 

"Some Dwarf-men survive the loss of their One."

 

"And these are _rare_ men." The juzral says. His tone is gentle. "Would you call them lucky?"

 

"Lucky?"

 

"Yes. Lucky to be alive as their husband or wife moves on to Mahal's Halls."

 

Glóin thinks. He remembers how miserable his father was. He remembers him holding onto one of her scarves and sniffing her scent like a child with a comfort blanket. "No." He mumbles. "Not lucky."

 

"No." The juzral agrees. "Not lucky. But nor were you when he passed on."

 

"Could've been worse." Glóin points out. "I might not have had Óin."

 

The juzral looks happy to hear this. "Well," he says. "I'd have to agree with that! Things could be worse."

 

"Juzral...what happens to the soul?"

 

To his surprise, the juzral shakes his head. "I couldn't tell you. Some people believe that Eru receives them and nurtures and heals them out of His kindness. Others believe that Mahal reforges them to become stronger and more resistant."

 

"What do you believe?"

 

The juzral smiles, a slight twinkle in his eye. "I believe Yavanna receives them and brings them to life and health as She brought the trees and plants and flowers into existence."

 

Glóin thinks of the tales he's heard of the Valar Queen, the wife of Mahal. She brought herbs to Arda, herbs which heal, fruits which nurture and nourish and flowers to bring joy. The thought of Her tending carefully to each damaged soul makes sense to him. "What happens to the soul after it is healed?"

 

"It is shown the way to where it needs to go, I believe. They are sent to their families."

 

"Juzral, what does the soul look like?"

 

The juzral laughs softly. "I couldn't tell you! Some say it is the shape of a flower in beautiful colours as a tribute to Mahal's wife. Some say it is a glowing silver orb, like the stars of Varda. It depends on what you believe it might look like."

 

"What about bad souls?"

 

"Child, there are no bad souls. Your soul is your life force. You have your brain and this controls your body, your thoughts, your personality."

 

"Juzral, will I meet them again? What if they do not know me in His Halls?"

 

"They will. Mahal will reunite you." The juzral looks down at him with those warm golden eyes. "Your kin could never forget you." Carefully, he saves a bead from slipping off one of his flaming red locks and fastens it for him. "Speaking of reunions, I have a terrible feeling you came without your brother knowing."

 

Faltering under the juzral's kindly, yet inquisitive gaze, Glóin mumbles that, yes, he had gone without telling Óin. "I'm sure he won't notice!" After all, the House of Healing is barely a stone's throw away. 

 

"Hmm." The juzral is trying not to smile. He gently tucks his arm around his shoulders and begins walking with him. "All the same, we had better get you to your gêmadad." A tad sternly, he adds. "You _must_ talk to him if you want to go somewhere, with or without him. He'd worry for you."

 

"I'm sorry, juzral."

 

"Now, don't worry, child. We've _all_ gone on expeditions without telling anyone. Just remember to tell him in the future, yes?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And you might want to apologise to him."

 

This, the young redhead thinks to himself, might be quite good advice. 

* * *

 

 

He's looked through the House of Healing twice. He heads back to the room, looks around, biting his lip. He goes to open the door and nearly knocks into their juzral. 

 

"Nadadith!" Air begins to fill his lungs again. "You... Where were you?" He grabs him, hugging him tightly. 

 

"You said to ask juzral about Da's Vörðr.."

 

"I did not mean to go without telling me! Don't you ever do that again!"

 

"I'm sorry, nadad!"

 

Óin can't bring himself to be angry. He's too relieved and hugs him tighter and closer. "Thank you for bringing him to me, juzral."

 

"No, t'is fine. Have a good day, now." Their juzral smiles gently at them and walks out, closing the door behind himself.

 

Óin buries his face into his brother's thick red hair, tracing the little braids with his thumb. Most are unravelling, though one has been recently, and neatly, redone. 

The juzral's handiwork, no doubt. The thought that some other, unsavoury character, a Man maybe, might have bumped into his little brother and picked him off fills him with the heavy fear. He sits heavily and pulls him on his lap, not caring how old he is, and cuddles him tightly, gently holding one of his brother's hands. 

 

He's still so _small_. 

 

Their mother had been small too, but even she was a head taller than her youngest son. He's not weak, in fact he's considerably strong, but a group of Men, or even just one, strong fully-grown Dwarf could overpower him.

 

"Nadad," he whispers. "Nadad, _please_ , never do this again. Please."

 

Soft, dark eyes look into his. "I promise, brother. I won't do it again. I'm sorry that I scared you!"

 

"I know." Óin hugs him tighter, gripping onto his brother's worn, red tunic. "I know. I forgive you, you know I'd forgive you anything. I was terrified to find you gone."

 

"You aren't angry?"

 

"No. Not this time, because I'm too relieved that you're here with me! But this mustn't happen again."

 

"It won't. I swear."

 

The drowning sensation they his fear had brought him fades away with this promise. Óin kisses his forehead and lets himself hold onto him for a while longer. 

* * *

 

 

It is only later when they are snuggled together that Óin brings up the promise. 

 

"You meant your promise about never wandering off again, didn't you, now?"

 

"I did." Glóin tells him. "I still do. See? I'm right by your side!" He is. They are so close together, Óin holding onto him as he did back in The House of Healing. 

 

Óin grins at him. "Aye, you are! See that you don't leave it again without telling me."

 

"I promised! And I don't break my promises unless there's a reason!"

 

Óin nods. "No, you don't." Gently, he kisses his forehead again. "I know, nadadith."

 

**Author's Note:**

> A Vörðr is from Norse mythology. They can be good or evil, but I chose to take a few liberties with its description. I don't know how a Vörðr truly appears. 
> 
> A juzral is a priest. I believe that the Dwarves would hold Mahal's messenger in extremely high regard, akin to royalty, hence the fine clothes and magnificent hat.


End file.
